


Communication Breakdown

by carrionkid



Series: Autistic Peter Quill Fics [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Autism Spectrum, Gen, Light Angst, Meltdown, Post-Canon, Self Injurious Stims, Self-Harm, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 23:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11024043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionkid/pseuds/carrionkid
Summary: So, I headcanon Peter Quill as autistic and having ADHD (there's a post about ithereif you're interested!) and this is a fic about him having a meltdown in the aftermath of everything that happened in Vol. 2. I'm autistic and have ADHD myself and I could relate to him, so that's what this headcanon came from. UPDATE: There's a sequel now! It'shere!-Peter can feel it building behind his eyes, he stopped crying a while ago but there’s still a broad pain pulsing in his head. It feels like he’s been hit by a bat, trust him, heknowswhat that feels like. He kneads his palms into his closed eyes and things feel alright for a second, until he opens them back up and the piercing ache returns.Room’s too bright.





	Communication Breakdown

Peter can feel it building behind his eyes, he stopped crying a while ago but there’s still a broad pain pulsing in his head. It feels like he’s been hit by a bat, trust him, he  _ knows  _ what that feels like. He kneads his palms into his closed eyes and things feel alright for a second, until he opens them back up and the piercing ache returns.

 

_ Room’s too bright.  _

 

He stumbles to the light control panel by Yondu’s--no, now it’s his--bed and taps on the controls he finds familiar until the lights dim. He leans against the wall and slides down to the floor, wrapping his head in his arms. This was a long time coming, not This  _ specifically  _ but it’s been a good year since he had a Serious Meltdown and he was just kidding himself if he thought it’d never happen again. 

 

He starts singing under his breath, Escape, Rupert Holmes, 1979; humming is less obvious but feels weird and he needs to distract himself from the fact that he’s freaking out as carefully as possible. He waits until he’s no longer hyperaware of his uneven breathing before deciding what to do next.

 

_ Need to move somewhere safe. _

 

He opens his eyes, the room is still really bright despite the fact that he’s turned the lights down as low as they go before being literally off. Yondu hadn’t moved anything in the room after Peter left. There’s one of the storage areas, hatch still pulled up, occasionally used for smuggling but more often used when Peter needs to hide. Yondu never really asked questions, just silently set aside a few places that were unspokenly acknowledged as Peter’s Hideouts.

 

He drops to his knees and crawls into the space; it’s small now that he’s fully grown but he can still sit with his knees drawn up to his chest and an arm thrown in front of his eyes. He presses his cheek against the cold metal of the Eclector, it’s a nice, smooth kind of cool and he lets himself breathe again. 

 

Everything’s going kinda sorta fine, as far as meltdowns go, until he hears the door to the room open. He reflexively throws his hands up to his ears and only drops them to his side when he can’t hear the sound of metal on metal anymore. 

 

“Peter?” 

 

He can see Gamora standing in the doorway, hands on her hips.

 

“Peter, if you’re going to be the Captain, we need you out on the bridge…” She walks farther into the room, “Peter? Where are you?”

 

_ Oh shit. This isn’t good. _

 

Of all the people to see him freaking the fuck out, Gamora is probably the one he dreads the most. Not because she’d make fun of him, but because it’s really impossible to think the guy you just saw hiding in a storage space and crying is Cool in any way, shape, or form. He’s too busy thinking and/or panicking to notice Gamora crouching down in front of the storage space.

 

“Peter?”

 

_ I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine. _

 

He tries to get his mouth to form the phrase, but fails. Stupid mouth. Stupid body. Always betraying him whenever his mind got all fucky. Just the fact that he can’t even say ‘I’m fine’ probably means he isn’t. 

 

Gamora stands up, “Guys?!” she shouts towards the door, “Something’s wrong with Peter!” 

 

Peter doesn’t hear the reply but Gamora shouts back, “I don’t know  _ what’s  _ wrong but it’s  _ something! _ ”

 

Gamora crouches back down and opens her mouth to say something; Peter shakes his head, once, twice, fast as he can before the movement starts to make his head ache. 

 

She stands back up, “Wait. I don’t think he wants anyone else to come.” 

 

She drops back down; Peter nods. His breathing is speeding up again and he can feel a spreading tingling sensation throughout his body. It reaches his fingertips and he tries to shake it away. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe; his hands reach down for his walkman, for the familiar weight of it on his hip but there’s nothing there.  _ THERE’S NOTHING THERE.  _ And suddenly everything is so much worse. 

 

He shoves the first two fingers of his left hand into his mouth and bites down on the space between knuckles. He digs his fingernails of his right hand into the soft part of his left arm. Peter has learned the hard way that the hard walls of the Eclector are bad for punching or banging your head against but he needs to feel  _ something  _ that overrides everything else.

 

He can hear bits and pieces of what Gamora’s saying, “What’s happening? --------- Please ------------- I just--------- help.” 

 

So much has changed so fast. He gained a father, lost a father, regained a dad and lost that dad again. Lost his walkman, almost lost his friends, gained a ship, became a captain. He has people  _ depending  _ on him now, like, for real. Not just friends who stick around because they don’t have anyone else, but people who need him to be Responsible, only by Ravager standards but responsible nonetheless.

 

He debates asking for Gamora to get the Zune but there’s no way he can communicate that complex of a sentence right now and anyway it’s not His Walkman. He loves the Zune, he really really does and he’d sooner die before making anyone think it didn’t mean anything to him. But, that doesn’t make it any easier. There’s too much chance involved for it to be useful right now, he knows Awesome Mix Vol. 1 and 2 by heart, there’s no surprise, no searching for a song that won’t just make things worse. 

 

It looks like Gamora knows him better than he thought because she’s sitting in front of him with the Zune now. He didn’t even notice that she left through the haze of the meltdown. She holds it out to him; he can hear music over the earbuds.

 

She smiles, “Hooked on a Feeling, Blue Swede…”

 

“1973. It’s my song, it’s my song, it’s my song,” his voice sounds hoarse and far away, but he takes the earbuds and slips them into his ears. He stops digging his fingernails into his arm and wraps his arms around his knees, squeezing tight, before he starts to sway. 

 

Peter stays like that until the song ends, then pulls the earbuds out. His breathing is relatively normal again and he doesn’t want to slam his head into the wall anymore so that’s progress. 

 

“You scared me, Quill...” Gamora’s voice is quiet and sharp but he knows that she isn’t angry even if that’s what she sounds like right now. He can’t reply so he just blinks, a slow movement.

 

She sighs, “We have to talk about this. Not now, but later.” 

 

Peter nods, he isn’t looking right at her but she seems to get the idea. He should’ve told everyone sooner, but he assumed that he could handle it alone.

 

“Do you want me to get Mantis?” Gamora’s voice is softer, sounds less angry and Peter uncurls just a bit more. He doesn’t understand at first, cocks his head and looks at her mouth in the place of eye contact.

 

“She can help you calm down, with her power.” Gamora explains.

 

Peter shakes his head, “No….. No touching.”

 

“Okay. Can I help any other way?”

 

He’s tired. He didn’t realize exactly how tired but now his head is lolling, falling to rest against his knees, “Gonna sleep.”

 

Gamora laughs, “Not down here! You’ll feel horrible when you wake up if you sleep down there.”

 

“Already gonna feel like shit.” 

 

It’s true, he’s gonna feel like he has one hell of a hangover tomorrow but with none of the fun of being drunk off his ass first. Still, he crawls out of the storage space. His bones feel stiff and creaky like he’s a statue coming to life. He stretches out, cracks his back, and shakes his head and his hands, trying to get the last of the meltdown feelings out of his body. He runs his fingers through his hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp in large circles, until his body is filled with a good kind of tingling, the calm and safe kind rather than the I Feel Like I’m Actually Dying kind.

 

He yawns and climbs onto the bed, running his fingers over the soft pelt covering of the mattress. Gamora walks over to the wall panel and clicks the lights off.

 

“Night, Quill. Take care of yourself.” 

 

She knows he’s probably already asleep after what he’s been through, but she says it anyway.


End file.
